My God’s Been Silent
since the winter I stopped praying.
Not out of rebellion—
but exhaustion.
There is only so long
a throat can stay
hoarse from begging.
I tried.
Lit candles,
notebooks full of psalms
scribbled with trembling hands.
Built altars out of my mother’s grief
& dared them to shine.
But the heavens were mute.
Even the stars turned their backs
when I wept in their direction.
What kind of Father
doesn’t answer
when his child is breaking?
I wanted to believe
suffering had a purpose—
that maybe my mourning
was music in a different key.
But all I heard
was the wind
mocking my hope.
They told me
faith is the substance
of things hoped for,
but they never said
what to do
when the hope is gone.
I have buried too many prayers
with names attached—
each one a body
I wasn’t ready to lose.
& yet,
I still speak to the silence.
Still wait
like the prodigal son’s shadow.
Still wonder
if absence
is a kind of answer.
Lumpia Shanghai
the way it feels/fills
is as if
your hands
still remember
how to love me
without saying a word.
as if joy can be folded
into something crisp—
bite-sized, golden,
still hot with forgiveness.
as if the oil knew
how long I’ve been hungry
for something that sticks
to more than just ribs—
but memory,
but home.
the way it crackles
on my tongue
is louder than the silence
we used to eat around.
I never learned the recipe.
but I know the taste
of something made
by someone
who promised me
they’d stay.
Darius Phelps is a poet, educator, and scholar whose work delves deeply into themes of grief, identity, and survival. His poetry is rooted in raw emotional vulnerability and draws from personal experiences to explore the complexities of love, loss, and the healing journey. Darius's work has been featured in various literary journals and collections, and he is the author of My God’s Been Silent, a poetry collection that speaks to the intersections of spirituality, trauma, and self-empowerment. As an educator, Darius integrates poetic inquiry into his teaching, fostering spaces for healing and growth through creative expression.